Graffiti

Art speaks for me silently

doesn’t speak my name but

whispers the inevitability of my existence

Like a foolish graffiti artist

you drew my life invisibly,

and tore apart your sheets

over and over again.

Till I could fully resurrect into hopeless forms

and sing the rhyme of justice

Till I could die and find a suitable

rubble of ash to mix with.

So that you could make merry with yourself

and proudly wear a grin

Primed, pietistic, ignorant.

I mutely survive your barrage

till I could become an artist myself

through linguistic flaws, emotive superiority

All shipped and floated

while u mimic my end.